Disenchanted
by chemicalflashes
Summary: This is the story of three boys— men really, who saw their lifelong beliefs being shattered like glass. This is the story of how they did the right thing in the end.
**A/N:**

 **Written for the Halsey One-Shot Competition on HPFC.**

 **Prompt Used:**

 **"I'm bigger than my body.**

 **I'm colder than this home.**

 **I'm meaner than my demons.**

 **I'm bigger than these bones."**

 **Those who know me, know that I am terribly obsessed with Colin Creevey, Regulus Black and Theodore Nott, in that order.**

 **Anyway, enough of my rambling.**

 **. ... ..**

 _Disenchanted_

Regulus Black was not a happy boy.

He was tired and the circles under his eyes had darkened. His face was haggard and his hands were trembling. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom and found a shell of a person staring back.

The Dark Lord had not treated Kreacher well and he was angry. He had not joined him for such a wicked deal; he had only wanted the vanishing of mudbloods and Muggles from the face of the Earth. But now, even that did not interest him.

He heaved as he remembered the Death Eater raids he had taken part in. He remembered how Greyback had ferociously torn a man's head away from his body while Dolohov happily raped his highly injured, bloody wife on the side. He shuddered and almost vomited at the thought as he gripped the sink with his pale hands.

Someone knocked on the door. His mother.

"Is everything alright? You have been in there for too long," she asked with rare concern in her voice.

"Everything is fine, Mother. Everything is fine. I will be out in a moment."

But everything was not fine. And he had to do something about it, soon.

The Dark Lord would never know what hit him. He did not know that he was meaner than his demons.

. ... ..

. ... ..

Theodore Nott was not a happy boy.

His father had been a Death Eater for almost fifty years and it was no surprise that he had grown up to hate the lot of the impure half-bloods and mudbloods.

However, he was surprised when he found himself frowning upon the new changes that had happened in Hogwarts.

He found out that he did not approve of what the Carrows were doing to the School. They asked them to use the Cruciatus on innocent first and second years and if they did not comply, they themselves got tortured by the said curse. Compliance was readily expected from Slytherins like him, and if they denied to follow the orders, they underwent twice the torture as others.

He had undergone the curse today and his mind was spinning. It is wrong, wrong, wrong, his mind had shouted and he had been unwilling to raise his wand and attack the small, quivering girl in front of him.

His hands were still shaking and when he went to bed that night, he lied in the fetal position and did not feel like a grown up seventeen year at all.

The dungeons were cold, but he was colder than them. He punched the pillow and ground his fist into it, imagining it to be the bloodied face of Amycus Carrow. With grim determination, he decided that he was going to speak up as soon as possible, after researching all about Voldemort.

They would never know what hit them.

. ... ..

Colin Creevey was not a happy boy.

He remembered that he had been happy a long time ago, before the War.

Before they had started running.

He could not believe that he had put his full faith into a boy who was barely an year older than him. Harry Potter did not come to save them whenever the Snatchers caught them, did he? He did not come when their parents were being slaughtered, did he?

He never came and he was never going to come. Not that he cared much about the Creevey brothers in the first place. They were just the dirt under his feet, an irritant. In fact, they were the dirt under everyone's feet— worthless nothings. Mudbloods.

Colin scoffed silently, the darkness of the room enveloping him, and he ran his bony fingers along the metallic cans filled with phosgene in his lap. He had made them himself and he was certainly going to use them in battle.

He felt the scars on his wrist that Umbridge had given to him during his fourth year and he smiled nastily.

They were going to regret thinking of him as a waste of space. They were going to literally choke for calling him a small baby who could do nothing and just run after his idol.

They were never going to know what hit them because they did not know what he was capable of.

They did not know that he was bigger that this body. He was bigger than these bones.

. ... ..

. ... ..

Regulus Black knew that he was going to die a very, very satisfied man. He had successfully changed the lockets and he smiled as he drank the poison, not once flinching. Drinking the vile liquid was torture but he carried on, unwavering in his determination to triumph against evil.

Gradually, his vision darkened and he found himself losing his balance. He fell to the rocky floor in a dazed agony. Barely a moment later, he felt skeletal hands pulling him inside the water. He welcomed them without resistance, knowing that his work had been done.

. ... ..

"I have a question, Sir," Theodore Nott said as he raised his hand.

"What?" came the gruff reply.

He stood up and all the students in attendance looked at him with perplexed silence. Nobody asked questions during class with the Carrows.

"Lord Voldemort, he is a half-blood, right?"

"Yes," Alecto Carrow said sharply.

"Then why are we, the purebloods, following him? He doesn't deserve it."

"How dare you, boy!" Amycus Carrow burst forth. "How dare you? Your father would have skinned you alive had he been here!"

The bell rang in the distance.

"You will pay for this!"

He did not say anything as he walked away, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Neville Longbottom covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes twinkling. The boy was laughing silently. Every student was looking at him with new found respect.

They found his body a week later in one of the greenhouses, with a trail of dried blood coming out of his smirking, lifeless, pale mouth.

When Madam Pomfrey was called upon to examine him, she announced that he had been the victim of rare but deadly, asymptomatic disease that had been eating away at his magical core.

But she knew better— it had been the handicraft of dark magic.

. ... ..

Colin Creevey did not blink as he used the Jelly Legs Jinx on Death Eater after Death Eater. He did not blink as he blasted open a can of poisonous gas, even though his heart was bleeding.

He knew he was going to drop dead any second; why not make the most of it by taking out as many of those elitists as well?

He did not see who got him in the end. He only knew that he had been able to send a well placed curse their way as he had fallen in seemingly slow motion onto the ground. All noise seemed to have faded into the background as he lied on the ground, his eyes eerily focussed on the smoky, white clouds in the colourless sky. All the colours present around him were bleeding into each other.

He tasted something distinctly coppery in his mouth. Perhaps it was blood. Perhaps it was bile, or perhaps it was a nasty combination of both. He heaved in his last breath and closed his eyes.

They found him with a bloody grin on his face.

. ... ..

 **Good? Bad? Ugly?**

 **What was I high on when I wrote this?**

 **(Probably 7℅ cocaine, not that it's any of your business)**

 **(That was a joke)**

 **What I mean to say is that please**

 **REVIEW because I am really proud of this one.**


End file.
